


Feels Like Home to Me

by AshayamBeloved



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Avengers Family, Depression, F/M, Hurt Peter Parker, Not Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Compliant, Peter Parker Has Issues, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Peter Parker is a Mess, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Avengers, Protective Tony Stark, Psychological Torture, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Uncle James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-04-23 18:25:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19156483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AshayamBeloved/pseuds/AshayamBeloved
Summary: Tony never felt like he had a real family until he first held his newborn son in his arms. His relationship with Peter has been strengthened and solidified by years of unconditional love, support and guidance. They both believed that nothing could tear them apart.But all of a sudden, Peter is beginning to fall apart as he succumbs to an increasing darkness inside his mind. Can the team save their Spiderling and can father and son salvage their slowly deteriorating relationship before it's too late?





	1. Can We Do This? Can I Do This?

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings all! I come bearing my first MCU fan fic! I've always loved the father/son relationship between Peter and Tony, and I absolutely adore the "Peter is Tony's biological son" trope. 
> 
> WARNINGS: This story contains swearing, psychological torture, violence, suicidal thoughts/attempts and lots of angst ahead! I hate giving too much away but it's best that you're pre-warned in case any of these are triggers for you. So, ye have been warned!
> 
> On with the story and please let me know what you think! I won't be able to update until the end of the week, as I have so much going on, so this chapter should hopefully be long enough to set the story up. Enjoy!

Blood. 

So much blood.

That was the first thing that Mary Parker noticed when consciousness slowly returned.

She blinked hazily several times before her blurred vision cleared enough to see beyond the sticky red substance splattered across the windscreen, which was cracked in several places. The pungent scent of blood and smoke pervaded her nostrils and the urge to vomit was overwhelming. She closed her eyes for a moment, willing the nausea to subside before reopening them.

Hearing returned next and Mary winced at the loud blaring sound was echoing through her eardrums without stopping. Slowly, she tilted her head to the side to where the sound was coming from. Her husband’s head was lying against the steering wheel, his face pressing down on the car horn. Both his face and the wheel were covered in blood.

Car horn…

Realisation suddenly crashed down on Mary as she remembered what had taken place earlier. They had been taking a brief vacation upstate when Little Hiccup had started creating havoc inside her (as he had done so since the moment he’d taken up residence in there and made her hiccup a hundred times a day). However, this had felt far more serious so they had headed home to consult with their doctor. Then Richard had lost control of the car and that was all Mary could remember. 

He had lost control of the car and was now lying face first against the wheel, unmoving and smothered with blood.

Her husband was dead.

This time, Mary couldn’t contain the vomit that rose in her throat at the realisation. She promptly expelled the contents of her stomach, unaware of the flecks of blood mixed in with it. It was only once she had finished spitting out the remaining bile that she remembered who else was in the car.

Oh God…

Oh God, _please…_

With trembling fingers, she placed her hand on her rounded stomach, hoping she could feel SOME movement, but there was nothing.

No… 

No-no-no-no-NO!

But then the sound of sirens and flickering blue and red lights drowned out all other thought and she closed her eyes, the thought of her unborn child and the father who knew nothing of existence on her mind.

 

* * *

 

 

“The results are in, Mr Stark. 98.25% chance of paternity.” The bespectacled, middle aged doctor smiled at him from across the desk, as though he had just delivered the happiest news Tony Stark could ever receive in his life. “Congratulations!”

_98.25%...._

No, it was impossible.

Tony shook his head violently, as though the action could somehow destroy the report that the doctor had just placed in front of him. It was impossible. There was no way Tony Stark could be the fa-

No. His head swam at the word.

“I…” he started to say, unable to finish what he was about to say. Hell, he had no idea what to say. How does one react to news like this, especially when they _never_ wanted to hear it.

When he had gotten the call telling him that a woman had professed he was the father of her baby, Tony had rolled his eyes and laughed. After all, how many ladies had said the same thing over the years and he had proven every one of those gold-digging women wrong. However, he knew that he still needed to do the test for physical proof and he was visiting New York anyway, he had casually sauntered his way over to the hospital, flirted with a nurse then submitted to a blood test. Yes, he had been so sure of his innocence in the matter.

He had been wrong. So very wrong.

“It’s a boy,” continued the doctor, completely unaware of Tony’s inner turmoil, and how much the other man wanted to throw up all over his desk and photographs of his family. “He was born at 10pm three days ago. He was eight weeks early so he is currently being taken care of in NICU, as he is premature and also due to complications leading to his birth. Mary Parker and her husband were in a car crash and while he was killed instantly, Mary survived long enough to have your baby via C-section. She survived long enough to name him - Peter - and inform us that you are his father before the operation but she died from complications soon after.”

Tony knew that the doctor was speaking but he could barely comprehend what the man was saying. Only snippets and certain words managed to pierce his foggy brain.

_C-section._

_Car crash._

_Mary Parker._

He could blame his inability to remember WHO Mary Parker was on his current, shell-shocked frame of mind but it was more likely that she had simply been a one night stand. A simple, no-strings-attached fling, just like Tony preferred.

So much for the ‘no-strings-attached’ part. 

A new emotion that he knew was guilt settled in his already unsettled stomach, mixed with a terror that he had never experienced before. He groaned and placed his hands on both sides of the doctor’s desk, trying to quell his ever-increasing nausea.

He barely registered the large hand suddenly placed on his left shoulder.

“Deep breaths,” the doctor encouraged. It took several minutes for Tony to regain some sense of equilibrium. He doubted he’d ever be able to breathe properly without wanting to faint or throw up ever again.

Moments passed before the doctor spoke again.

“Would you like to see your son?” he asked softly. 

_No._

Seeing it would make it real and Tony didn’t want it to be real.

He staggered to his feet, intending on running from the office, the hospital, the city, hell even his entire existence, but the doctor seemed to think that this was a ‘yes’ to his question instead. 

“This way then.” He gently steered Tony out of the room and down several hallways, his hand not leaving the business man’s shoulder. Not that Tony had the strength to remove it himself; he felt as though his legs were made of jelly. He managed to drag his feet along in a daze, each step feeling as though he was being led to his death.

It seemed to somehow take both too long yet too quick for them to reach the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, where Tony stood in the small observation room that led into the ward. Even though the door was closed, the harsh smell of bleach and antiseptic - no doubt important in a ward dealing with compromised immune systems - pervaded Tony’s nose, causing him to nearly gag again. NICU was dark and quiet, with specialists observing each tiny bed with clinical focus. There were a few parents there too; Tony stared at them through the observation window as they hovered over their baby’s bedsides, expressions filled with love and worry.

Feelings that he did not have.

 _“Urgently paging Doctor Brown to Ward 5!”_ a voice called over the P.A. system.

“Sorry, that’s me,” the doctor apologised. He gestured at the door. “You are welcome to enter when you’re ready. The nurses will tell you what to do.” He hurried off, leaving Tony totally alone in his misery. Somewhere in that dark, sterile room, was his-

_No._

Tony fled the room, almost knocking into a nurse in his haste. He made it down two hallways before crashing into the nearest bathroom, where he immediately threw up the contents of his stomach, thoughts clashing together until it felt as though his brain was exploding from the sheer force of the situation. 

_98.25%._

_Mary Parker._

_Peter._

_No._

It was impossible. Yet somehow it had been made possible, and Tony wanted nothing more than to disappear. He wished that he had refused to take that goddamn paternity test. He wanted to go back in time and tell his past self to use a fucking condom and not be a drunken idiot.

And yet it would only be three hours later that Tony would return to NICU for the first of several daily visits, never entering the room but observing the bed that he would find out belonged to a tiny baby that had somehow survived a horrific car crash and a premature birth.

 

* * *

 

Tony could barely remember his parent’s funeral. While he had been sober and relatively with it during the ceremony, he had gotten wonderfully shit-faced afterwards, pilfering his father’s liquor cabinet as he had done so many times since he was sixteen-years-old (only this time Howard wasn’t there to lecture him for doing so and express his utmost contempt for the utmost disappointment his son was). Perhaps his binge drinking that night was the reason why he couldn’t even recall what was no doubt the bullshit eulogy his relative had sobbed out in memory of his father.

What Tony _did_ remember though, was a particular photo of his mother during the final moments of the funeral. She had been pregnant with him at the time the picture had been taken, and there was a soft smile on her face as she patted her rounded belly protectively.

Then another photo had appeared of his father holding his pregnant wife and Tony had walked right out of the church, unable to stomach the false, award-winning look of fatherly affection Howard had managed to plaster on his face. He had gone home, downed glass after glass of the most expensive scotch his dad had possessed and gotten so drunk that Jarvis had found him in a pool of vomit and fifty-thousand-dollars’ worth of whisky that had soaked into the carpet.

Now, as he hid at the back of a small funeral parlour, gazing at the large photograph of a pregnant Mary Parker displayed near her coffin and not paying attention to the speeches made by her friends and family, Tony felt an overwhelming sense of deja-vu, and it made him feel even more nauseous than he had felt at the age of twenty-one. It also made him want to go home and get drunk immediately.

Sparing the photo one last glance, he made his escape (miraculously, no one had noticed the presence of the man whom Mary Parker had cheated on and he wanted to keep it that way). However, as he made his way down the stone steps, he was confronted by Pepper Potts, who was standing in front of his car, dressed in a smart black suit and carrying an umbrella. With a weary sigh, he walked towards her, knowing he had no other option. They both got into the car.

 “You know, if you wanted to remain inconspicuous, wearing a three-thousand-dollar Armani suit and having Happy drive you around in an Audi probably isn’t the best way to do it,” Pepper remarked.

“What can I say? Nothing can take me out of my Audi,” replied Tony smoothly. He gestured at Happy to start the car and frowned at Pepper. “How did you know I was here?”

“I know you better than you think.” Pepper placed her hands in her lap and looked at Tony. “You’re not as unfeeling as you think you are.”

Tony snorted. “All evidence to the contrary.” He laid his head against the back of his seat and closed his eyes. “Media still milking my reputation for all I’m worth?”

“Yes,” said Pepper simply. No beating around the bush then. “You’re not just the talk of the town either. 60 Minutes Australia is tipped to win a ‘Logie’ - apparently, it’s some kind of Australian television award - for their segment dedicated to ripping you and your past to shreds.” 

The businessman groaned and rubbed his eyes. “Isn’t their Prime Minister under fire for refusing to rescue those asylum seekers? Surely they have better things to bitch about than my personal life.”

“Putting aside my respect for your surprising knowledge of the tensions between Australia and Norway at the present time, this is huge, Tony.” Pepper’s face was devoid of humour. “It’s a miracle that you managed to get here without the media on your heels. Plus, everyone wants information from Mary and Richard Parker’s family, which brings me to my next point,” she paused before continuing. “Richard’s brother Ben has offered to raise Peter.”

Tony’s eyes shot open at this revelation. He looked at Pepper in disbelief.

“But…it’s not even his brother’s…!” he spluttered incredulously.

“ _He_ , not _it,_ Tony,” corrected Pepper irritably. Tony knew that she was losing patience about his refusal to see or fully acknowledge the baby’s existence. “Mr Parker told me that, although Peter may not be his biological nephew, he and his wife May loved him before he was even born and believe that Richard would have wanted it anyway.” She studied the man beside her, taking in his exhausted face and demeanour. It was not often that he would showcase such vulnerability and it softened her just a little.

“Whether you want to admit it or not, there’s a tiny baby in that bed that’s half you, Tony. Whatever you decide, you need to do it soon, and when you do, you need to be one hundred percent sure that you’re doing the right thing, because I can guarantee you that you will regret it for the rest of your life.”

Tony’s head, which had been reeling since that goddamn blood test, somehow began to spin even more. At that moment, he would have given anything to get his hands on some scotch again and get so drunk that all he could feel was the agony of throwing up all over his penthouse. But the thought of that tiny creature, surrounded by tubes and a team of doctors and nurses keeping him alive, stopped that train of thought before it could continue. He figured that something was starting to change inside of him against his will and had a nasty feeling that it would be irreversible. 

It was both terrifying, yet exciting. 

 

* * *

 

  **Six weeks later...**  

 

The Special Care Unit was supposed to be a less scary place for one to visit their new babies than NICU, but it still scared Tony fucking shitless as he stared through the large window into the ward, in which a dozen babies were currently resting. Tony only had eyes for one of them though or, more accurately, the tiny cot in which that certain baby was lying in and had _Peter Stark_ emblazoned on a whiteboard at the foot of the bed.

_Peter Stark._

It was like the hospital had decided for him that Peter was his-

No, Tony couldn’t finish that sentence. Would never be able to finish it because, although the baby had his last name, it wasn’t his responsibility to take care of it. Last names and genetics meant nothing. No, it wasn’t his responsibility at all. He didn’t care what happened and he would stop staring at that cot immediately.

Soon. As soon as he could somehow tear his tired eyes away from that whiteboard.

_Peter Stark._

_Stark._

_'Look away, Tony.'_

_Stark._

_Peter Stark._

He could vaguely hear footsteps approaching and knew it was Rhodey even before the man’s heavy hand gripped his shoulder. He imagined that his friend was smiling at him sympathetically but Tony still couldn’t rip his gaze from that stupid sign that was tearing his life apart. 

“How is he?” Rhodey asked softly. Everyone had taken to speaking to him in hushed tones, as though they were afraid he would crumble at the slightest provocation. This knowledge annoyed Tony, not only because they assumed he was weak and vulnerable, but also because they were right. The last thing he needed was for the people around him to finally lose their patience (and Tony knew that they were itching to speak their minds), so it was easier to deal with them this way. 

It took a great deal of effort for him to muster the energy to speak (he hadn’t said a word since he had returned to the hospital six hours prior), but he managed to shrug listlessly before replying, “OK, I guess. He’s eating, breathing and staying warm on his own, which are apparently important milestones. They reckon he’ll be ready to go home soon.”

To anyone who did not know Tony Stark as well as he and Pepper Potts did, the self-confessed playboy genius would have been viewed as cold, apathetic and void of any feelings towards his new child. Hell, Tony probably thought the same, or at least tried to tell himself that, but Rhodey had known him for far too long to believe so. 

“And where will that home be?” the colonel asked, his voice still quiet, knowing that his best friend knew what he was implying in his question. As predicted, Tony didn’t answer, instead continued to glare through the window at the whiteboard with bloodshot eyes.

Silence fell between them before Rhodey spoke again.

“He must be lonely in there,” he commented, observing the cot through the glass. Although he hadn’t been able to see Peter while he was in NICU, Tony had authorised for Rhodey and Pepper to visit him in the Special Care Ward. The fact that his best friend would have others see his son and refuse to even look at the pictures Pepper had taken, let alone MEETING his new baby, frustrated Rhodey to no end. He knew that his patience, as well as Pepper’s, was wearing thin.

“He’s got people prodding him all day and hot nurses cooing over him every ten minutes. Trust me, he’s not lonely,” said Tony dryly.

“Yeah, but there’s a difference between having strangers surrounding you all day and spending time with his _family_ ,” Rhodey pointed out. “His _dad_.”

Tony flinched at the emphasis placed on the words. Even after eight weeks, they still brought on mixed feelings of nausea, fear, anger and numbness.

Yet during that time, new feelings had started to develop and refused to be quelled, which pissed off and frightened Tony to no end. Sometimes he would go into a daze when the doctors or nurses filled him in on Peter’s condition and he barely registered a word they were saying. But only a few days ago, he had randomly demanded to know what formula they used, then had pulled out his phone to check reviews on the brand. When he realised that he had viewed two websites on the subject, he had closed the browser in horror and slid the phone as far away from him as possible and had snapped at some poor cleaner asking if it belonged to him. Tony had known since the revelation of Peter’s birth that his home was no place for a baby to live, but at some point, he had made up plans for a new, baby-friendly A.I. system to keep him safe. After swearing at himself for such stupid thoughts, he had begun to wonder whether he had been trying to convince himself all along that his home was suitable, had then pushed the insanely idiotic idea to the back of his mind, only for it to keep appearing with malice. It was driving him insane.

“Ben and May Parker offered to adopt him,” he said quietly. Rhodey looked away from the glass and at Tony with surprise.

“Really? But Peter’s not their nephew.”

Tony shrugged again. “They said it doesn’t matter. They loved Peter before he was even born and they wouldn’t ever stop loving him, no matter what.” He chuckled darkly. “I think it’s their way of pointing out that the kid will be better off anywhere else than-“ he broke off.

“Than with you?” Rhodey finished for him. He folded his arms and raised an eyebrow. “And you really believe that’s true, huh?”

Another non-committal shrug. “Kid’s better off living with someone who doesn’t feel like throwing up every time at the thought of his existence.” Tony ran a weary hand through his hair. 

At that moment, Rhodey finally snapped. 

“OK, coddling time is over, Tony.” He pointed an angry finger at a set of arm chairs nearby. “Sit your ass down.”

“Don’t boss me around,” snapped Tony. “I’m not in the mood for a D&M in a hospital, so don’t bother bringing out the pillows and starting a tickle fight in your bra-“

“Cut the sarcastic bull shit, asshole.” Rhodey’s glare was on par with Tony’s. “Either I can wrestle your idiotic self into that chair or I can get Pepper to do it. Because trust me, she’s just dying to and you’ve seen how pointy her stilettos are.” 

Tony opened his mouth to snap back with a witty retort but, upon realising the truth behind Rhodey’s words, relented and fell back into one of the chairs. Rhodey sat on the chair opposite, rested his elbows on his legs and observed his best friend.

“What’s wrong with you, Tony?” he asked seriously. “What’s happening up there in that genius head of yours?”

Tony didn’t answer. Rhodey refused to be deterred though.

“You really want to hand over your kid to someone else and never see him again?” he pushed on. Tony sighed.

“It’s for the best. I don’t know.” He looked down at the ground as though it was the most fascinating thing on the planet. “I just…I don’t know. I don’t give a shit.” 

“If you don’t give a shit, then why are you still here?” asked Rhodey bluntly. 

“I DON’T KNOW!” Tony jumped to his feet, his chest heaving as he finally let out the anger and frustration he had been feeling for weeks. He paced back and forth wildly, running his hand across his face that was flushed with emotion. The man continued to do so for a while before he got his breathing back under control, then turned back to his friend, who was waiting patiently for him to continue.

“Look, this was never in my plans,” said Tony, flailing his arms out beside him, finding the physical action relieved some stress. “I never wanted to be a…I never wanted kids. I’m not exactly a child-friendly person, Rhodey. For Christ’s sake, I design _bombs_ for a living! I drink, I _am_ the womaniser the press always claims me to be; I can’t even remember sleeping with Peter’s mother. I enjoy gambling and I like to party. What kind of role model would I be for any kid?”

It was Rhodey’s turn to shrug. “I think sometimes the best things in life are those that are unexpected. And I think this unexpected thing is exactly what you need.” He leant back in his chair. “All that womanising, drinking and other bull shit stuff you fill your life with…they’re just _fillers_ , Tony. What you really need is someone to love and who stops you resorting to that meaningless crap.”

Tony rolled his eyes and snorted. “Right, _love._ ” He made his way over to the window again, leant his forearm against the glass and closed his eyes.

“What if I don’t love him?” he whispered, finally voicing the fear that had been haunting him for eight weeks. He opened his eyes and looked at his best friend, his expression exhausted and defeated. 

“Aren’t parents supposed to love their kids from the start?” Tony murmured. “I don’t know what I feel when I think of him, but I don’t think it’s love.” He let out a self-deprecating laugh. “I honestly don’t think I’m capable of loving anyone.”

“That’s the biggest load of bull shit I’ve ever heard.” Comprehension suddenly dawned on Rhodey’s face as he realised what his best friend was fearing above all else.

“You’re not your father, Tony,” he said quietly.

“What has that got to do with anything?” snapped Tony defensively, his fists clenching not only out of anger but also from the panic that someone knew what was bothering him.

“A lot, I think,” said Rhodey. A heavy silence reigned between them, in which Tony was torn between punching his best friend right in his know-it-all face or hiding in a toilet cubicle somewhere as he threw up from the nausea that his weaknesses had been discovered. Instead, he groaned and looked at Rhodey, who was sporting a much softer expression on his face.

“My father was a miserable excuse for a parent, you know that. What if…” Tony swallowed the lump that was forming in his throat. “…what if I’m the same? What if being a shitty father runs in the family? I can’t destroy an innocent kid’s life, Rhodey. I just can’t.” He let out an almost hysterical laugh with no trace of humour in it. “Guess Tony Stark DOES have some kind of moral fibre, huh? Pity I didn’t have any when I knocked up a married woman and forgot about her the next morning.”

“Tony.” Rhodey got to his feet and walked over to him. He placed a brotherly hand on Tony’s shoulder. “You’re nothing like your dad. If you didn’t give a shit about that kid, you would have just brushed the idea of parenthood off, walked away and never returned to the hospital every single day like you have.” He gripped the other man’s shoulder. “Take it from me, buddy. You already love him. That stubborn little brat has crawled in under the wire and he’s here to stay.” Rhodey smiled at him then pushed him towards the door leading into the nursery.

“Now, get your stupid ass in there so you can see that for yourself.” 

 

* * *

 

The lights in the Special Care Unit were dimmed when Tony forced his feet inside the room, feeling as though his legs would give out at any moment. There were no other parents present; the only occupants of the room were himself and a nurse, who was busy fiddling with some kind of machine attached to another baby. She looked up in surprise as he walked towards her. Tony couldn’t blame her; it was, after all, the first time he had stepped inside the room since his…since the baby he was here to see had been moved from NICU.

“Good evening, Mr Stark,” she greeted with a warm smile. Tony tried to return the expression but he knew it looked more like a grimace. Not something you would expect from a par…from someone about to see their-

“I’m here to see my-” Tony broke off, still unable to finish that sentence. “My…I’m here to see _him_.” He pointed at the cot in which housed a certain baby. Thankfully, the nurse didn’t raise an eyebrow at his inability to finish his sentence, although Tony was sure that she was judging him on the inside, no doubt thinking what a piece of shit he was for being unable to refer to the baby as his-

“Of course, sir.” She gestured at a set of taps beside him. “We’ll need you to wash your hands first. Peter is a lot stronger than he was when he was in NICU, but it’s still important to practice hand hygiene.”

Tony stared at her for a moment, trying to process everything she was saying. He then nodded stiffly before turning to the sink beside him. Tony’s ordinarily steady hands, (stemming from genetics and years of engineering work), shook as he pumped sterilising soap onto his palms and rinsed them underneath the tap. Once he was done, he followed her over to the tiny cot. A piercing cry suddenly filled the air, making Tony wince at the volume. How something so small could emit such an almost deafening sound was beyond him.

“Is…uhh…is he alright?” he asked awkwardly.

“Oh, he’s fine. He can just be a little fussy from time to time.” The nurse picked him up with a natural grace that left Tony in awe. “Would you like to hold him?” she asked gently.

It felt as though Tony’s stomach had dropped to his feet at the question. He felt an odd combination of wanting to run as far away from the baby as possible but also conquering his fear and finally hold his-

“What if I drop him?” he asked nervously. To his surprise, the nurse laughed.

“Every parent thinks that at some stage. Don’t be nervous.” She moved forward. “Here, hold him horizontally and support his neck - yep, just like that.”

The transition from staring at the infant in the nurse’s arms to have said infant in his own happened so quickly that Tony blinked in surprise. He stood there, stiff as a board for some time, trying to process the fact that there was _a baby in his freaking arms, for crying out loud!_

“See, you’re a natural already!” the nurse beamed at him.

“Yeah?” Tony’s tongue felt heavy in his mouth.

“You’re doing great,” the nurse assured him. She gestured at the bundle in his arms. “I think Peter agrees too.”

Tony suddenly realised that the baby he was trying valiantly not to kill in his clumsy grip was no longer crying. 

“Nothing like being warm and safe in daddy’s arms, hey, little man?” The nurse caressed Peter’s cheek and gave him a fond smile. “I’ll give you some privacy. Just buzz if you need a hand, ok?” 

Tony blanched. “Wait, I can’t-“ But the nurse had already left the room, leaving behind a very stressed out man and a highly breakable infant.

The sterility of his surroundings and harsh stench of bleach and other hospital cleaners had faded away and were replaced by the smell of what Tony assumed to be baby powder and something else that he couldn’t quite put his finger on but wondered whether it was simply the natural scent of Peter’s skin. 

For the first time since he had found out about Peter’s existence, Tony took a close look at him. His own dark brown eyes looked up at him with what Tony believed to be curiosity and his mouth was slightly open as he was no doubt studying the guy holding him and wondering who the hell Tony thought he was finally waltzing in here after eight weeks (Tony knew that wasn’t possible, but his guilty conscience was telling him otherwise). Peter’s skin was paler than his was, and it was only because he had seen a photograph of Mary Parker at her funeral that he knew Peter had inherited her skin tone. When Tony awkwardly adjusted the woolly beanie that was about to slip off Peter’s head, he saw the baby already had a thick patch of brown hair like his. It was unbelievably soft and surprisingly thick for a newborn or at least Tony thought it was; before his son was born, he had merely looked at babies as though they were bald-headed aliens who stank and cried a lot. He found himself wondering how much Peter would resemble him as he grew.

Tony gasped in surprise as the tiny hand latched onto his index finger and refused to let go. “Wow, for a kid who’s just spent eight weeks in NICU, you’ve got a surprisingly strong grip,” he remarked. When Peter showed no sign of letting go any time soon, Tony gave up and instead observed the tiny fist with fascination. The baby’s hands were so _small_. But really, he was just small all over. Tiny and fragile in Tony’s arms. He was suddenly torn between a desire to relinquish him into the safety of a nurses’ arms and what he assumed to be some kind of inherent paternal instinct to hold onto his son and protect him from everything and everyone that might hurt him.

His son.

This was his son.

Jesus fucking Christ.

“Fuck…” he whispered hoarsely, then winced at the slip-up. “Shit,” he cursed out loud and then felt like punching himself for swearing in front of his child twice. Tony looked at the baby warily. “Uh, you’re too young to remember I said that, aren’t you? Neither of them are going to be your first word, right?”

Peter’s only response was to let go of his father’s index finger and take a hold of the one beside it. Tony’s lips twitched slightly as he continued to study this tiny bundle of human, dressed in the adorable pale blue onesie Pepper had bought for him and a hat inscribed with his name, and who was currently occupying Tony’s arms as though he had found his home. This precious, extraordinary creature that he had helped to create was cuddled against father’s chest, _Tony’s chest_.

Tony was a _father._

It was this realisation that finally made the self-confessed playboy genius break down completely.

His eyes scrunched shut and he took a deep but shaky breath in an attempt to calm himself but it was of no use. Thick tears that he couldn’t control began to roll down his cheeks and onto Peter. He gently brushed away the salty liquid from Peter’s small face with trembling fingers but he still couldn’t stem the flow of tears that were increasing and he finally gave in. Broken, ragged sobs heaved through his body and he clutched his son close to his chest. He cried for the emotional turmoil and the physical and mental exhaustion he had been through over the past eight weeks. He cried for the woman who carried their son for thirty-two weeks and had died before even having the chance to hold their son. He cried for Richard Parker, who had been killed in that horrific crash and had died believing the child growing inside his wife was _his._ He cried for the terrible father Howard Stark was, and how damaged he had been from the man’s shitty parenting. He cried for his son, who had been (and still was) so fragile and precious, yet had battled against the odds and now lived to take his first steps (as long as Tony didn’t accidentally kill him before then). He cried for the carefree yet meaningless existence he had led before the discovery of his son and the person he was now; a new father, scared fucking shitless yet so incredibly in love with his child that he felt like he just might have a chance of somehow making this work.

Because he did love Peter. Christ, he loved him so much. How could he have ever doubted that he would? Rhodey was right; he had loved Peter from the moment he had received that call; he just hadn’t wanted to believe it. Because it was easier to be selfish and not feel anything than to open your heart to something incredible and have it inevitably ripped from you. 

Behind the arrogant and apathetic mask he wore, not only around others but even in front of his own reflection, there was a lonely soul with a lot of old pain he had never dealt with correctly. It was something he rarely admitted to himself (and that was usually after drinking himself into a stupor), but somehow this tiny creature, who didn’t even know where his nose was, had forced him to admit this unpleasant fact.

As Rhodey said, this stubborn brat had crawled in under the wire and was there to stay.

Seconds, minutes or hours later, Tony’s sobs finally began to subside. Exhausted, he looked down at his baby boy, who had remained quiet throughout his father’s lack of control. In fact, it looked as though he was about to drift off to sleep. Tony gave Peter a watery smile and tenderly stroked the baby’s eyebrows.

“What do you reckon, Pete? Do you think we can do this?” he murmured, as though Peter could provide him with a coherent response. “I’ll tell you right now, I don’t have a clue how to be a father. I work long hours, I travel a lot and up until now I -“ Tony stopped short before he could finish that thought. Peter would never know his father’s reaction to his birth, he would make sure of it.

“But I’m not going to be like your grandfather,” he promised his son. “I’m not going to send you off to some boarding school to get rid of you. I’ll tuck you in as many nights as I can, we’ll play catch together, or build Lego; hell, whatever you love, I’ll love it too. And if anyone tries to hurt you…well, I’ve got the most high-tech, dangerous weapons in the world at my disposal. No one’s gonna mess with you, buddy. Not on my watch. What do you think?”

Peter’s answer was not vocal. Instead, the baby squeezed his father’s finger more tightly and closed his eyes. The knowledge that his very presence had soothed his son to sleep was all Tony needed to make his decision. Peter needed his father and Tony needed his son. He closed his eyes and kissed Peter’s forehead.

It felt natural, it felt right.

It felt like _home_.


	2. Not Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat, and wondered what the hell he was going to do next. Obviously, he could easily retrieve her with a web, but that wasn’t going to stop her from doing it again. But he had no idea how to talk someone out of committing suicide.
> 
> Suicide. Someone was planning on killing themselves right in front of him. Holy shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your amazing reviews, and I am SO sorry about the late update; I've been sick with the flu for the past week and it really took a toll on me. But now I'm healthy and bursting with inspiration again! This is a somewhat short chapter, but I have one shift left at work before I'm on break so the next chapter will hopefully make up for it. 
> 
> On with the story and I hope you enjoy!

_Sixteen years later..._  

Most teenagers spent their Saturday nights seeing movies, having sleepovers, going to parties, sometimes getting drunk or getting laid. Most teenagers wouldn’t dream of spending their nights taking on burglars, stopping buses from crashing with _webs_ and dealing with other, sometimes extremely dangerous situations (the latter was something that had become harder to do, since Tony had installed the super annoying ’Baby Monitor Protocol’ after a few too many close-calls).

To Peter Stark, it was simply a part of life.

Then again, none of his peers had been stupid enough to prod a radioactive spider on a field trip, causing him to develop superpowers and become the “Friendly Neighbourhood Spider Man.” He could still remember his father’s non-stop ranting about the whole thing before Tony had caved in, accepted the reality of the situation and had helped to mold Spider Man’s identity and created the best technology a kid with superpowers could ever have.

“Guy-in-the Chair to Spider Man,” Ned Leed’s voice spoke through the comm. “You copy?”

“Copy, Guy-in-the-Chair.” Peter tried to utilise Ned’s codename when he remembered to; it made his best friend feel “professional” as he put it, and he seemed to get both offended and frightened of being discovered if his real name was revealed.

“How are things?” Ned asked.

“Still nothing for the past two hours,” answered Peter. He yawned. “Dad will be thrilled; haven’t had such a quiet night for five weeks now.”

“Do you think he’s listening right now?” the voice in his ear was practically squeaking with excitement. Ned could never seem to restrain his eagerness at the prospect of conversing with the legendary Tony Stark. “Hi, Mr Stark!”

Peter winced at the sudden increase in volume. “Keep it down, dude!”

“Sorry,” Ned apologised. There was a pause before he murmured, “Sorry, Mr Stark.”

Peter rolled his eyes. He had known Ned since seventh grade, and his best friend STILL gawked at his father like he was a god (albeit one who happened to drive audi’s and wore either three-thousand-dollar Hugo Boss business wear or his infamous Iron Man suit rather than a set of white robes).

“He’s not as cool as you think he is, trust me.” The teenager yawned, cracked his neck and surveyed his surroundings. “Usually he eavesdrops on me only when I’m out after curfew or if Karen dobs on me for being hurt.”

“Yeah, like that time you got stabbed and told Karen not to tell him,” Ned recollected.

Peter winced yet again as he recalled the thunderous expression on Tony’s face when he had found out his son had managed to hack into his suit and convince Karen to not tell him that the then fifteen-year-old had been stabbed repeatedly in his left thigh. The jig had been up when the man had walked into Peter’s bedroom and found the teenager attempting to deal with his wounds himself. The incident - as well as the hour-long fight that had inevitably followed - was a memory that Peter had no intention of experiencing again.

“Yeah, let’s not go there.” To be honest though, the memory seemed very trivial compared to what had occurred yesterday, when his dad had walked in on him when he was very much “alone.” Peter had screamed for him to get out whilst fumbling with his pants (nearly catching his sensitive skin in the zipper), and Tony had quickly left the room, laughing his head off. The teenager dreaded the inevitable conversation about it.

He shook his head, willing both memories to disappear as quickly as he, Pepper and Rhodey did when his dad suggested ordering from that gross shawarma place. The teenager refocused his attention on the city instead. It was late September and Fall was lurking around the corner. It was Peter’s favourite time of the year; even more so than the Summer break. There was something about the crispness of the air and the gold and red foliage that would soon scatter the streets and paths. However, his love of Autumn now only spanned ‘til early November; swinging around the chilly streets and fighting crime in his Spider Man suit lost its appeal once the temperature dropped and his spider DNA made him want to hibernate in a tight ball somewhere.

It had been surprisingly uneventful evening, considering it was a Saturday night, which was usually the busiest day of the week for Peter. Other than helping a lost five-year-old boy find his father (making him remember how many times he used to run off at that age in search of adventure, much to his own father’s chagrin), breaking up a scuffle between two women fighting over some deadbeat guy who was egging them both on and stopping a drug deal in an alleyway, there had been no major incidents that had required his assistance.

“All seems pretty quiet over the scanner.” Ned’s confirmed, mirroring Peter’s thoughts. “Maybe you should head home and get some sleep; we’ve got that big algebra test on Monday." 

Peter considered it before the memory of his father catching him at the worst possible time forced its way into his brain again. 

“No,” he said firmly. The less time he gave the man to give him yet another “talk” (which had been bad enough the first time), the better. Perhaps he would even forget about it; Peter could only hope. “I’ve still got a couple of hours ‘til my curfew. I’ll give it a little while longer then I’ll turn in.”

“Okay.” He heard Ned yawn. “But I need a pee break. I’ll be right back.”

“No problem.” Peter heard his friend sigh in relief before the tell-tale static of the comm being put down.

While Ned was pre-occupied in the bathroom, Peter continued to observe his surroundings until the hairs on his arms stood up in warning. Immediately alert, his enhanced vision pierced through the dark sky until his brown eyes rested upon a figure standing near the edge of a roof on a nearby building.

Peter felt his stomach drop to his feet at the sight. Unable to wait for Ned to return, he shot a web across two buildings before he found himself standing a few feet away from the figure. The teenager hesitated, unsure what to do next and whether to make his presence known in case he startled her. However, she must have heard him land because the person turned around, revealing the face of a woman who appeared to be in her mid-thirties, blonde hair dirty and unkempt and a wild expression on her face.

“Don’t come near me!” she screeched. “Stay away!”

Peter placed his hands up in surrender. “I’m not, it’s okay.” He shrugged at his trembling hands, proving his words correct. “See? I’m not moving.”

The woman regarded him suspiciously for a moment before looking in front of her again. Peter swallowed the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat, and wondered what the hell he was going to do next. Obviously, he could easily retrieve her with a web, but that wasn’t going to stop her from doing it again. But he had no idea how to talk someone out of committing suicide. 

 _Suicide._ Someone was planning on killing themselves right in front of him. _Holy shit_.

Breathing heavily and restraining the impulse to step further, he opened and closed his mouth several times, trying to come up with _something_ to help the situation, but the woman spoke first.

“You can’t save me, Spider Man.” She shook her head violently. “No one can save me.”

“Okay…” said Peter slowly. He licked his dry lips before speaking again, “I swear I’m not coming closer, umm…what’s your name?”

She spared him a glance, her eyes narrowed but amazingly she answered, “Jillian.”

“Jillian,” Peter repeated. He paused again before he noticed what she was wearing. “You’re a nurse, huh?”

She looked at him again. “Yes.”

“Cool.” He smiled tentatively, even though she couldn’t possibly see it beneath his mask. “From your uniform, I’m guessing you work at the same hospital that a friend works at. Her name is May Parker. Do you know her?”

Jillian shook her head, her eyes not leaving Peter. Taking this as a good sign, he continued speaking;

“So, Jillian,” he tried to talk calmly, worried that his next question wasn’t going to send her over the edge. “Can I ask why you’re up here tonight? It might feel better to talk about it.”

The woman didn’t answer for a few moments before she shook her head again. “You wouldn’t understand.”

Peter shrugged. “Maybe not, but I’ve been told that I’m a good listener when I’m not talking about Star Wars.”

Of course, Ned had to return at that moment. “Guy-in-the-Chair to Spider Man. You there.”

“Shut up, Ned,” Peter mumbled under his breath.

“Dude?” Ned sounded worried. “You okay? What’s going-“ 

“Just shut up for a bit,” hissed Peter, not wanting Jillian to believe that he wasn’t paying attention to her. Mercifully, Ned fell into silence again. Breathing a sigh of relief, he focused on the woman again.

“You can tell me, you know. I’m not going to judge you or tell anyone. Seriously.”

More silence before she whispered brokenly, “I’m so alone.” The woman felt so despondent that Peter found his own heart was breaking at her words.

“Why do you feel that way?” he asked softly.

The woman took a deep shaky breath. “I couldn’t save them. Two beautiful little girls in the E.R. They were in an accident and I…they didn’t make it, and it’s all my fault.” She choked on a sob and rubbed her eyes furiously.

“Oh.” Peter could understand fully where the woman was coming from.

“Do you know, I feel that way sometimes too,” he said quietly. The woman looked at him again. Peter nodded. “It’s part of the job, I guess. Sometimes, I can get to the person who is about to be robbed in time or the child about to be hit by a bus, but some days, there’s just no way you can do it. My-“ he stopped himself short before speaking his dad’s name. People had no idea who the boy behind the mask was. “Someone told me once that you can’t save them all. It’s true, but that doesn’t stop you from beating yourself up about it from time to time. So, you’re not alone.”

“Step down,” he pleaded. He dared to take a step forward; the woman didn’t protest this time. “You are a good person and you don’t deserve to go this way. You don’t have to deal with this alone. _Please step down_.”

It could have been seconds, minutes, hours later until the woman nodded. She put her foot forward, only to trip and fall backwards.

“NO!” Peter launched forward and deployed his web shooter, hoping against hope that he had caught her in time. He let out a shaky breath when he looked down and saw Jillian, screaming in terror but safely entrapped in the web.

“I’ve got you!” Peter pulled her upwards until she was back on the roof. She continued to cry as he pulled the web off her then, to the teenager’s shock, pulled him into an embrace, sobbing into his shoulder. He hesitated before returning placing his arm around her as well.

“It’s okay,” he soothed. “You’re not alone. “You’ll be okay.”


	3. Uncomfortable Discussions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five minutes later, Peter had bolted from his father’s workshop and skidded into his room, slamming the door and considering pouring bleach into his ears to forget his dad’s horrific tale of the flesh and blood Jarvis finding him with a copy of Playboy Magazine. There were some things a kid just didn’t want to know about their parent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Anxiety attacks, meds side effects and a sleepless AshayamBeloved makes for a very uninspired writer. I am so sorry for the late update but hopefully this chapter makes up for it! The real action will start to really happen in the next chapter. 
> 
> In regards to the whole Civil War disaster; I don't want to make Steve the bad guy. Even though I think he made some seriously wrong choices, there was fault on both sides and our boys are going to have to work through that. It's gonna take a lot of hard work though!

Tony’s lab at Stark Tower wasn’t anywhere NEAR as spacious as the one at the Compound, but it made do when he needed something to distract himself while his teenage son was out shooting webs and taking on bad guys like there was no tomorrow. Blasting AC/DC until his eardrums were close to bleeding also helped, but he had yet to find a perfect balance of the two that would completely rid himself of the temptation to call Peter and demand that he swing himself back home as fast as his superhuman DNA could hurry him.

He had planned to sell the place after the Germany/Siberia disaster, but some sentimentality had prevented him from doing so. They had resided in the tower for nowhere near as long as their Malibu mansion, yet they had never formed a connection to the latter as they had with their New York home. They would have possibly moved to the Avengers Compound by now, but it wasn’t practical while Peter was still in school. It didn’t mean that most weekends and school vacations weren’t spent there though, which meant that the entire team could spoil their youngest Avenger rotten. It went without saying that Peter was probably more loved than any other teenager on the planet. 

“Boss, Peter has returned,” announced F.R.I.D.A.Y.

To say that Tony was surprised by F.R.I.D.A.Y’s announcement was an understatement. The odds of Peter finishing patrol well before his eleven o’clock curfew were as unlikely as Steve saying the ‘F’ word. Usually the kid barely made it with only a few seconds to spare on weekends; tonight, he was home an hour early. Tony wasn’t sure whether he should feel relieved (especially after Peter’s antics over the past few weeks) or worried.

Fifteen minutes later, there was a knock on the door before Peter let himself in (sometimes Tony wondered why the kid bothered knocking when he was just going to barge in anyway). The kid had taken off his suit and was dressed in sweat pants and a grey shirt.

“Hi, Dad,” he greeted with a tired smile. 

“Hey, buddy.” Tony observed his son’s form with narrowed eyes. “Are you hurt? I must warn you that if you hide any more injuries from me, I will light your Xbox on fire and throw it from the top of this tower-“

“I’m not, I promise!” Peter assured him hastily. He lifted his shirt, revealing skin unblemished by bruises or blood. “See? You can ask Karen too.”

Tony searched Peter’s eyes for any sign of lying, but eventually nodded. “Good.” He could feel the tension release from his shoulders; the man wondered how a person who brought him so much joy could also be the main reason for his premature aging.

“So, it’s Saturday night and you’re home an hour before curfew,” he commented, as Peter walked over to Tony’s workbench.“To what do I owe this tremendous, pleasant surprise?”

“What, can’t a son care about his elderly father is now at a delicate stage in life and can’t handle such stress?” asked Peter innocently.

“Hey!” Tony pointed a spanner in Peter’s direction in a warning manner. “I don’t appreciate being evaluated over twenty years older than I actually am. I’m only twenty-seven; still a spry chicken.”

Peter snorted at his father’s attempt to de-age himself by twenty years. “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that. Pretty sure chickens don’t get grey feathers and wrinkly beaks.”

“No, but if they did, they couldn’t pull it off like I do.” Tony smirked and turned his attention back to the jumble of parts in front of him. “You know, women’s magazines sometimes write that I’m better looking than George Clooney…minus the head-bobbling.”

Peter wrinkled his nose and grimaced at the thought. “Yeah, I don’t need to know that women find you attractive, or that you read Cosmopolitan, Dad.”

“What can I say? Sometimes I need something to do when you’re getting stitched up at the Compound after pulling some stupid stunt and I need to be distracted from it.” Tony looked up from his work and at his son again, taking in his pale face and tired eyes. He frowned as he noticed how fidgety Peter was being; a habit that was usually caused by his enhanced senses going into overdrive or if something particularly unsettling had happened on patrol. Tony was trying to cut back on his “helicopter parenting” (as Sam had dubbed it) by not spying constantly on his son through the Baby Monitor Protocol (which Peter had no one but himself to blame for having it installed), but he still kept an eye on his son’s vitals. That night, Peter’s heart rate had spiked dramatically, yet no injuries had been sustained so Tony had let it slide. But clearly, they needed to discuss it now.

“What’s up, buddy?” he asked softly. “You look like you did the last time we got takeout from Shawarma Palace, and the beef didn’t agree with you.”

The fact that Peter ignored the quip instead of complaining about much he hated his father’s favourite restaurant, as well as the lethargic shrug proved Tony was correct in his assessment. He waited patiently for his son to answer.

“Just a crazy night,” the teen muttered. His eyes were fixated on the floor, as though it was the most fascinating thing on the planet.

“Hmm…” Tony continued to study his son, repressing an irritated sigh when the boy refused to enlighten him regarding his troubles any further. He never used to have any trouble in getting Peter to tell him what was wrong. It was something he had drilled into his son since childhood; if he felt sad, worried, sick or hurt, he needed to tell Tony or a trusted adult like Pepper or Rhodey so that they could help him. Peter had always followed this rule until he had reached his mid-teens; to be completely accurate, it was the moment he had been bitten by that fucking radioactive spider and hadn’t told him until Tony had found out his son had been swinging around New York in a terrible, homemade suit and fighting crime when he was supposedly having sleepovers at Ned’s house. This annoying new habit of Peter not telling him things hadn’t stopped and it was driving Tony crazy. Truth be told, it was almost  _hurtful_ too.

“Have you heard from Aunt May lately?” Peter suddenly blurted out. His question was so unexpected that Tony was shocked. He floundered for a moment before shaking his head.

“Not for a while.” Of course, May Parker wasn’t actually Peter’s aunt (not even by law), but Tony had maintained contact with both she and Ben (while the man had still been alive) over the years. After all, they had cared about the baby they believed to be their nephew and had never stopped, not even after the bombshell that Richard was not Peter’s father.

“Oh.” Peter was still looking at the floor but was now swinging his legs back and forth. He paused again before continuing, “I’d like to see her again.”

“Okay.” Tony nodded slowly. “We can do that. I’ll contact her this week.” 

“Cool.” Peter was trembling now, taking shaky breaths. Tony immediately jumped to his feet and hurried to his side.

“Hey, take it easy,” he soothed, clutching onto his son’s shoulders. “Deep breaths,” he coached.” Tony had heard the same words so many times during his own panic attacks that they were ingrained in his skull. I

It took a few moments before Peter managed to get his breathing under control. Tony wiped the sweat off his son’s brow.

“Better?” he asked gently. When Peter nodded, Tony squeezed his shoulders and let go. He pulled up a stool and sat in front of him.

“Can I just...chill here for a while with you?”

Tony smiled softly. "Sure, kiddo.” He clapped Peter's back and gestured at his workbench. "How about we work on your webbing?”

Peter's face brightened. "Okay!" The teenager jumped to his feet with such eagerness that Tony was overwhelmed with a sudden wave of affection. Peter's enthusiasm, his shy but friendly and sympathetic personality, as well as his dedication to his role as the 'Friendly Neighbourhood Spiderman’ had softened the hearts of all the Avengers; especially Natasha's, who considered him to be the little brother she had never had. It was also why the entire team were particularly protective of their youngest member, much to Tony's relief and Peter's annoyance. It went without saying that Peter had not only copped an earful from Tony when he had been stabbed, but also from Rhodey, Pepper, Natasha and even Steve (the latter which Tony had not appreciated and had made his feelings known on the matter). Still, he couldn't ask for a better team to take care of his son.

Father and son worked in companionable silence for a while, both of them so attuned to working together that Tony rarely had to correct what his highly intelligent son was doing, when the man decided that perhaps this was a good opportunity to discuss something that Peter would no doubt attempt to flee from but needed to be had nonetheless.

“You know, since we're here, there's something I’d like to talk to you about.”

“You know what? I’m actually pretty tired.” As predicted, Peter jumped to his feet, a look of sheer dread on his face. “I should go to bed; I’ve got that big algebra test on Monday, and I-“ 

“No can do.” Tony pointed at the seat that Peter had abruptly stood up from and nearly knocked over in the process. “Sit.”

He could almost see inside Peter’s mind as the kid no doubt tried to formulate some escape method but the teenager’s face quickly fell as he realised he was fighting a losing battle. With an irritated huff, he collapsed onto his seat again, looking as though he was about to receive his death sentence.

Tony cleared his throat before beginning, “First of all, I’m going to give you a valuable piece of male advice; when you’re-“ 

“Don’t say the word!” begged Peter.

“What else should I call it? Shaking hands with yourself? Burping the-“

“No euphemisms or your stupid nicknames either!” 

Tony rolled his eyes. “Fine. When you’re doing what you were doing yesterday,  _close your goddamn door_.”

“I forgot,” Peter mumbled, still looking at the floor.

“Translation; you were in too much of a hurry to care,” Tony translated. “Well, you’ll care next time, won’t you?”

“How was I supposed to know that you’d come barging in anyway?” retorted Peter. “God, couldn’t you  _hear_ what was happening in there?" 

“I thought you were in pain! Can you blame me?” Tony folded his arms and looked at his son pointedly. “Wouldn’t be the first time I found you making suspicious noises in your bedroom after being stabbed multiple times, would it?”

“Yeah, yeah,” grumbled Peter. 

“Anyway, we’ve had this discussion before-“

“-and it was bad enough the first time-“

“-but judging by your reaction yesterday, I feel like we need to have it again.” Tony rested his elbows on his knees. “You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about; it’s completely natural for guys to-“

“If it’s nothing to be embarrassed about, then why did you laugh?” demanded Peter, scowling at his father. 

“Well, it was kind of funny,” admitted Tony. “But you’re right; I shouldn’t have laughed. I’m sorry.” 

“You should be!” snapped Peter. He kicked his foot against the bench. “Are we done?”

“Not yet.” Tony leant back in his chair. “ The truth is, I understand why you’re embarrassed. Let me tell you about a story from my teen years...“

 

* * *

 

Five minutes later, Peter had bolted from his father’s workshop and skidded into his room, slamming the door and considering pouring bleach into his ears to forget his dad’s horrific tale of the flesh and blood Jarvis finding him with a copy of Playboy Magazine. There were some things a kid just didn’t want to know about their parent.

Then again, as the memory of the nurse he had just saved from ending her life and had taken to her brother’s home to be cared for there, he thought that maybe his father’s tale was far less traumatising than the memory of nearly failing to catch Jillian before she plummeted to her death. Peter thought of the words he had spoken once he had pulled her back onto the roof. 

_“It’s okay. You’re not alone. You’ll be okay.”_

Peter could only hope that she would be.

 

* * *

 

“Well, if it isn’t our favourite Spiderling!”

Tony folded his arms and rolled his eyes as his son was bombarded with welcomes as they walked into the New Avengers Compound the next morning.

“Yeah, let’s all forget about Tony Stark; the man who pays for everything," he complained loudly.

“Alright, we will.” Natasha gave Peter a fond smile that Tony had never seen her bestow on anyone else. As usual, his son harnessed the natural ability to bring out the soft side in absolutely everyone. Rhodey gave his ‘nephew’ a welcoming wave and grin from the couch where he was sitting beside Clint, who nodded at Peter over his laptop. 

“Peter!” Sam seemingly appeared out of nowhere and leapt over to the teenager, nearly knocking Tony over in the process. “Did you bring it?” he asked eagerly. 

“Sure did!” Peter reached into his backpack and pulled out a case. Tony immediately recognised it as a copy of _Super Mario Odyssey_ , purely because he had heard his son letting out a series of expletives while playing the game since the moment he got it. Fortunately, Peter had at least stopped his childhood habit of chewing on his controllers out of frustration.

“Great!” Sam rubbed his hands together in glee, looking as excited as Peter did at the prospect of playing video games (and that was saying something). “I’ve got my Switch charged, so let’s play!”

“Never thought of you as a video game fan, Wilson,” said Clint lightly, as he typed away on his laptop.

“The correct term is _gamer_ , and I’ll have you know that I’m good at it too,” Sam retorted. He clapped Peter’s back. “Though not as good as this kid here.”

Peter’s cheeks flushed pink. He was always embarrassed when he received a compliment on absolutely anything. “Come on, let’s play. You won’t believe how amazing the quality is!”

“Oh, man, can’t wait-“ their voices trailed off as they bounced out the room, still discussing how awesome the Nintendo Switch was. Natasha shook her head in amusement.

“If he put as much effort into his sparring as he’s doing with his stupid video games lately, he might not get his ass kicked every single time we practice together.”

“Yeah, Falcon’s gonna be too fat for his wings to carry him soon.” Clint finished typing and closed his laptop. “Speaking of which, do you want to spar?”

Natasha nodded. “Yeah, give me a sec.” She pointed at Tony sternly. “Tell that Spiderling of yours that he’s not going to sit in Sam’s room all day. I want to catch up.” She followed Clint out of the room, leaving Tony and Rhodey alone.

Tony stood behind the couch, rested his elbows on the seat and raised an eyebrow at his friend. “What are you watching, Sweetcakes?”

Rhodey shrugged. “I dunno; some David Attenborough documentary on a new fish species.” They watched as two fish appeared on the TV screen.

 _“The brothers have found a school of females travelling together. The more handsome sibling – with its bright scales and enormous tail, has managed to attract the females and will now settle down to mate with them constantly for the next 48hrs. On the other hand, the less attractive and undesirable male has once again failed to live up to his brother’s reputation and must now wait patiently for any female outcasts, who will fight to the death for the affections of the handsome sibling.”_  

“Does it feel eerie, looking at yourself in marine animal form?” queried Tony.

“Ha, ha.” Rhodey flipped him off.

“Hey now, that’s rude. Old Man Rogers would be greatly offended,” Tony waggled a finger at him. “Speaking of which; where is Capsicle? Decorating the kitchen with flour and food colouring? Last week we had ‘Hulk Hash Browns’ so ‘War Machine Waffles’ are probably next.”

“I don’t know about that, man; I’m pretty sure I saw bottles of red and gold food colouring on the bench a few days ago,” warned Rhodey. “So we might be having ‘Iron Man’s Irresistible Ice Cream Cake’ for dessert tonight.”

“You should all feel so lucky to have a piece of me,” said Tony smoothly, earning himself another middle finger pointed in his direction. “Don’t deny you’ve secretly longed for it, Pooh Bear.”

“Longed for what?” a soft voice spoke from the doorway. Steve was standing there in sweats and a grey shirt, looking at the other two men curiously while mixing the contents of a large bowl with a wooden spoon. 

Tony shook his head. “Never mind, Cap. Too risqué for your innocent little ears.” He winked at Rhodey. “Just don’t be surprised if Rhodey has an extra large serving of ‘Iron Man’s Irresistible Ice Cream’, if that’s what’s on your culinary schedule today.”

Steve raised an eyebrow. “Hate to break it to you, Tony, but we’re having ‘Spider-Man’s Steak and Eggs’ today.”

“And how exactly did you recreate steak and eggs into something Spider-Man related?” asked Rhodey curiously. Steve shrugged.

“Well, I had to be creative but I found an egg ring shaped like a spider on eBay.” Steve had only discovered eBay, and he was now a man obsessed. “I guess you’ll just have to use your imagination for the steak.”

“Well, you’re a dedicated chef, Cap. I’ll give you that much.” Tony attempted to sound casual but couldn’t completely disguise the bitterness that he felt towards Steve. 

Although the other man’s face was blank, Tony knew that the Captain could sense it too. How could he not? Tony had been bitter since he had copped a shield to his chest and been left to die in Siberia. Their initial reunion had not been pleasant but he believed that they were making progress (well, they weren’t attempting to kill each other, so that was something), and Tony hoped that they could find a way to be the teammates they once were. The rift between the two men wasn’t healthy for the rest of the team. The Avengers needed to fight together again, instead of against each other, and he knew that Peter, in particular, was also not ready to forgive Steve for what the man did to the teenager’s father in Siberia. So Tony was doing his best to talk to the Captain in a civil manner and Steve was also doing his best to bring a sense of normalcy to the compound again. Things weren’t hunky dory but it wasn’t a warzone anymore.

Rhodey cleared his throat, clearly sensing the rising tension in the room again. Tony knew his best friend was also feeling bitter about what had befallen him during their fight in Germany, but he seemed to be doing a far better job at keeping the peace than Tony was, considering the circumstances. “So, breakfast nearly ready? Because I’m starving and David Attenborough’s boring the shit outta me.”

Steve nodded. “It’ll be ready in a few minutes. Round everyone up.” He disappeared through the door. Rhodey looked at Tony appraisingly.

“You right there, Mr Stank?” 

It was Tony’s turn to give him the finger. “I don’t like someone using witty nicknames; that’s supposed to be my forte.”

“Seriously, Tony.” Rhodey’s face was solemn now. “You doing OK?”

Tony gave a half shrug. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” He looked up at the ceiling. “F.R.I., tell everyone to get their asses to the dining room and for my son to turn that stupid Nintendo Switch off before I flush it down the toilet!” 

 

* * *

 

Happy Hogan was skilled at several things; being the Head of Security at Stark Industries, Tony Stark’s personal bodyguard and putting up with the man’s bullshit on a daily basis. One thing that truly tested his patience was dealing with the peak hour traffic he had to contend with in order to drop Peter to school.  

“Goddamn kids,” he grumbled under his breath, as they waited for a group of elementary school students to be escorted across the road.

“You’re an angel at seven in the morning, anyone ever told you that?” asked Peter, who was sitting beside him and fiddling with the stereo.

“Yeah, well, escorting smart-mouthed teenagers to school is the highlight of my day,” said Happy sarcastically. He batted Peter’s hand away from the stereo. “We’re NOT listening to the _Boopin Boobs_ when I’ve had three hours of sleep.”

“It’s _The Beastie Boys,_ Happy, and this song was made for you.” Peter pointed at the bodyguard and bopped his head in time to the music. “ _Don’t – you – tell – me – to – smile!”_

“Keep it up and you’ll be walking your scrawny ass to school,” warned Happy.

“What will you tell dad if I get kidnapped or murdered?” asked Peter.

“That his son somehow deleted AC/DC off his car playlist again,” answered Happy smoothly. “Trust me, he’ll be on my side.”

Peter held his hand to his heart in mock outrage. “Traitor!”

Happy nodded. “I work for your dad, not for you, kid. I have a responsibility to be honest at all times, even at the expense of dobbing in his son who has God awful taste in music and is a pain in my ass.”

Peter snorted. “Liar. You’d be miserable without our morning trips to school.”

“Pfft.” Happy rolled his eyes but his mouth twitched slightly in what Peter, having witnessed it for as long as he could remember, knew to be affectionate. Regardless of what the Head of Security for Stark Industries said, he cared deeply for the son of his boss and was always there for him. He’d send Peter texts (which were once jam packed with emoji’s but the novelty had clearly worn off so he generally used a maximum of three per text), take him out for dinner after school and protected Peter at all costs. The incident where Flash had pushed him outside school and Happy had gotten out of the car and intimidated the stammering teenager was only one example.

They soon pulled into the school-waiting bay. Peter unbuckled his seatbelt and grinned at Happy.

“Thanks for the lift. Your cheerful mood in the morning is always inspiring.”

“Scat, kid,” said Happy curtly, although he immediately added, “Good luck with that exam.”

“Thanks, Happy.” Peter gave him a grateful smile as he unbuckled his seatbelt. “We going for pizza after school?”

“Yeah, I suppose.” Happy waved his hand wearily, as though the prospect wasn’t something he was looking forward to but again, Peter knew better. “I’ll be able to deal with you in eight hours.”

“How could a kid not feel loved with that attitude?” Peter got out of the car and closed the door. Before Happy could drive off, he sent a message he had composed on the way to school:

 

  

Peter watched as three dots appeared on the screen and waited for Happy’s reply.

 

Peter bit back a laugh.

 

Peter could imagine Happy's indignant face when he saw the text.

 

 

Sniggering, Peter made his way to the school building, where Ned was waiting at the entry.

“Dude, is that a new Audi?” he asked excitedly as Happy’s car drove off, stopping to beep at a gaggle of girls, who were standing in the driveway and taking photos for Instagram.

“Yeah.” Peter didn’t find his dad’s car collection as exciting as most people did, and wouldn’t brag about anyway. He was already known as the rich kid and Iron Man’s son; he didn’t want to add to it.

“Sweet.” Ned seemed to snap out of his reverie and hitched his backpack up his shoulders. They made their way inside the building and towards their lockers. They walked in silence but Peter could tell that Ned was dying to ask what had happened on Saturday night.

“So, you going to tell me what happened the other night?” Ned asked, proving Peter correct. He hesitated for a moment before answering.

“I stopped a woman who was about to commit suicide.” Even now, the knowledge was as shocking as it had been when he had found Jillian preparing to jump off that building.

“Holy shit!” Ned’s eyes widened.

“Yeah.” Peter closed and locked his locker before leaning his back against it. He breathed in heavily. “She was about to jump off a roof.”

Ned’s mouth opened and closed several times, unable to respond. Peter couldn’t blame him; after all, Ned had been privy to most of what Peter did on patrol, but suicide was a new one, and somehow it seemed even worse than the amount of times Spider-Man had managed to prevent someone’s murder. Perhaps it was simply because it had never happened before that made it more shocking.

Finally, Ned spoke again, though his voice wavered, “What...what happened after she...?”

“I took her to her brother’s place. He was super distraught and said he was going to get her some professional help.” Peter closed his eyes and repressed a shudder at the memory of the man clutching his sister to his chest as if for dear life and sobbing into her neck, while she did the same.

 _“You’re not alone. You’ll be okay_ ,” the man had unknowingly repeated Peter’s own words. He had put her to bed, and then had tearfully thanked Peter for saving his sister and informed him that he would get her some help. The teenager could only hope that the woman would know that she was not alone and that she needed help to deal with the enormous stress that came from her job.

“I can’t imagine feeling so depressed that...killing myself would seem like the only solution.” Ned’s voice brought Peter back to earth. His friend was shaking his head, his eyes still wide. “It’d be awful to feel so alone.”

Peter nodded. “Yeah.” Like Ned, he could only imagine what was going through Jillian’s mind that night. Although he could sympathise with her about the failure to save someone’s life sometimes, it had never driven him to suicidal thoughts. Plus, he had no doubt that he wasn’t alone; he had two best friends in Ned and MJ, a bodyguard who appeared gruff and irritable but would still send Peter texts that were mainly emojis, Miss Potts who shared an equal exasperation and fondness for his father and a team of extraordinary people who might coddle him from time to time, but were always there for him. Above all he had a parent, who might not be as cool as everyone else thought, had to tell him incredibly embarrassing stories and was sometimes insufferably overprotective but was still the best dad in the whole universe.

Yep, Peter was pretty effing lucky to be so loved and that he could channel his superhuman abilities into a means of saving and protecting people. He had a crazy, mixed up family and a purpose in life. He had no possible reason to feel so alone and depressed that suicide would be an option.

And that made him the luckiest kid on the whole planet.


End file.
